


Lesson Four; On the Correlation of Frozen Lakes and Cartilaginous Fish

by an_evasive_author



Series: Continued Studies of Fatherhood [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, One Shot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Snow is no reason to cease working; Such is the prevailing belief in the House of Fëanáro. And so, while the winds howl and yammer outside, a new idea might strike just as one is drinking their tea.Fëanáro, not one to deny his muse, leaves behind the warmth of the fire and the ease of his seating pillows to craft wonders. How could he resist; Wickedly sharp metal and slick ice does sound like such a wonderful combination, after all.





	Lesson Four; On the Correlation of Frozen Lakes and Cartilaginous Fish

Stone dust and snow had a way of getting into the most unfavourable of places where they rubbed and nibbed with chilly teeth down to the bone. And so Nerdanel had left the child-tending to Fëanáro and had gone off in search for a bath.

When Nerdanel stepped into the room, damp hair bound up neatly, she was greeted by quite the sight.

In front of the fireplace, on the red carpet, gold-stitched pillows all plump and plush, had been piled up generously. On these pillows, with little Macalaurë dozing on his chest, lay Fëanáro, just as animated as the pillows. Gaze turned towards the ceiling, utterly bored, Fëanáro was hunting for an idea, it seemed. Perhaps he feared spooking it away if any sudden movement commenced and so he lay placid and rooted in place.

Ideas, Nerdanel knew from experience, did not like getting chased, they preferred sneaking up on people and ambushing at inopportune moments. They where predators who, coincidentally, happened to be sore losers. Because it was alright if _they_ did it. But Fëanáro was, if anything, just as bad and so he prevailed, pressed on and tried to catch an idea by the tail.

Macalaurë, not yet burdened with the burning ambition of his father, sighed contently as his back was petted and yawned quietly. There was a very untroubled snore, a snuffling breath and Macalaurë's nose twitched. Fëanáro brought his own nose closer to his son's face to rub tiny circles with the very tip of it over Macalaurë's forehead. Macalaurë, though asleep, cooed at the delicate contact.

Macalaurë was a sensitive child and Fëanáro's hands where those of a crafter, calloused and rough if not cared for with oils and salves. The winter, harsh and dry, did only aggravate this and it would not do to scratch his sleepy son with rough fingers.

Meanwhile Nelyafinwe busied himself by stacking building blocks as high as he could. Already the tower stood as tall as he was but still he was not satisfied. Such was the ambition he had inherited and already the first sparks had ignited.

It would likely get worse the older he got, though Nerdanel wasted no further thought on it.

Fëanáro, in comparison, looked rather listless and Nerdanel took pity on her crestfallen, lethargic husband. “Perhaps a walk would do you well,” Nerdanel offered and stretched herself over the couch, fumbling for a book, not bothering to read the title. She fished for one still left open, the spine creased. How sloppy. Had she done this when she had still lived with her father, he would have giving her ears quite the twisting for treating books so roughly.

“Hmm,” Fëanáro hummed quietly but did not make to rise. Both from inertia and the child drowsing peacefully on his chest, he was tethered to the pillows.

“The lake looked quite nice,” Nerdanel said, unperturbed by her husband's lack of enthusiasm. She settled into armrest of the settee, head propped up by upholstered oak and sunk herself into the words before her. “The ice sparkles in the light...” she said, though this time to herself. During work she had caught glances of the lake in the distance.

Wrinkling his nose, Nelyo sighed. “I do not like ice, I always slip and fall on my face...” he muttered and stretched upwards to set another block onto the ever growing tower. Indeed, safe for the gardens, Nelyo was not one to venture out in this weather.

Nerdanel, who had turned her head in that very moment, could _see_ as inspiration sneak up behind her husband and clobber Fëanáro over the head. One moment, he lay still, relaxed. Until suddenly he did not. He was energy, coiled tightly beneath skin and bones; A wildfire flickered and burst to life through a single ember.

A single careless sentence had been enough to set his mind aflame and Fëanáro gently pried Macalaurë's fingers from his hair to steal himself away into his workshop before the idea could run through his fingers.

Macalaurë, deprived of his warm resting spot, hiccuped in surprise and began mewling his protest, squirming like a displeased caterpillar.

Fëanáro kissed him and handed the child to Nerdanel, who, caught off guard, looked up rather surprised and received a kiss to the ear. “Fëanáro!” But her husband was already off, driven by his inspiration and the burning need to create.

Nelyafinwe, who was not spared a distracted, misplaced kiss to the nose, watched him go.

Macalaurë, once more warm and comfortable, murmured blissfully without a care in the world.

* * *

In the distance Fëanáro could be heard hammering away, undeterred by the promise of their homely living room with pillows, books and building blocks.

Nerdanel did not envy him, her poor husband who was ridden by ideas which would not leave him alone. But she did not feel sorry enough to join him in his chosen discomfort.

Alas, she would make due with her sons.

* * *

Time passed peacefully and Nerdanel changed her book. So much, in fact, that Nerdanel's hair had dried fully and hung in auburn locks down her back. She stroked a strand of it behind her ear and looked up from where she reclined.

The hammering had stopped a while ago, though Fëanáro was still absent. So perhaps this new project was one of the time intensive ones.

Nelyafinwe had grown bored of his blocks. He had settled next to his mother with a book of his own. Macalaurë sat in his lap, crooning about as his brother read pictures to him.

Nerdanel had been so very worried that Nelyafinwe would resent his little brother; His father had a reputation after all. But how it warmed her heart to see Nelyafinwe so responsible and affectionate with Macalaurë.

The book they where reading was about some grand adventure of a caterpillar, though Nelyafinwe had swiftly delved into his own interpretation and now told whatever it was that pleased him. It was not as if Macalaurë minded.

The door was not quite kicked open, if only by the virtue of startling Macalaurë and the tantrum that would follow. As it was, Fëanáro simply stormed into the room, laden with all the cloaks and boots and warm clothing one would need for a trip into the icy wastes outside. “Get yourself dressed, there are experiments to be conducted.” Fëanáro, rearing to go, threw clothing at everyone in sight.

“May I help, Ata? Please, please?” squealed Nelyo as he dug himself out from under his own pile of garments. Macalaurë, who needed unearthing, was lifted out of the fabrics and Fëanáro, already in his cold weather gear, took it upon himself to dress the tiny elf.

“But of course, you are, in fact, quite vital to bring this new piece of work to perfection.”

Nelyafinwe clapped his hands and jumped around, eager and excited.

Nerdanel rolled her eyes, unfolded the woollen cloak where it had landed over a chair and smiled at her husband's exuberance, “Well, I do suppose we need to step outside for a while, what a wise idea.” If only to tucker Fëanáro out, though Nerdanel held her tongue on voicing the thought.

Fëanáro busied himself by wrangling Macalaurë into a warm swaddle and pulling a little bonnet over his head, while Nerdanel hunted down Nelyafinwe.

* * *

Fëanáro, who loved to see his family squirm, did not reveal what it was he had made. But he did make a show of stowing the bundle on the sleigh they used to transport Macalaurë comfortable.

Along the way, Nelyafinwe made snow-elves. He would bound across the snowy path, along the sides where bushes usually grew and past his parents.

Then he would roll a ball, push it forward until it had reached a size where it could not be moved further. A second ball would follow, by the time his parents had meandered past him, pushing the little sleigh with Macalaurë inside before them, the snow elf would be complete and the circle would begin anew.

Round, slightly wobbly looking snow-elves now stood guard along the path, dutifully keeping watch despite their slumping forms steadily crumpling. Some where decorated with the frozen, shrivelled rosehips left over on the naked twigs.

Fëanáro and Nerdanel, arms linked together, gallivanted through the white powder, footsteps trailing lightly over the delicate blanket. With his free hand, Fëanáro pushed the sleigh along in which Macalaurë lay. A waxed tarpaulin was stretched over half of it, shielding the child from snowflakes and the cold.

Macalaurë was wrapped in so many layers, he looked like a tiny hill made from wool with a face peeking out. There came lively babble out of the sleigh, with so many things to see, Macalaurë kept up a running commentary.

* * *

Upon arrival, there was a mandatory snowball fight; The rest could wait. Macalaurë, confined to the sidelines, squealed and wriggled around. Too small to join in just yet, he enjoyed the sights and smells around him, content to simply be.

Meanwhile the other three had turned the untouched beauty around them into a battlefield, with ammunition scooped up, pressed between gloved fingers and hurled with wild abandon. No one cared for sides to pick.

Only then did Fëanáro bring out his newest work.

“What could this be,” asked Nerdanel as they studied Fëanáro's newest idea. They looked like wooden boards with a blade stuck to the bottom. “And what is it for?”

“You are meant to traverse ice with it. This is the prototype. As it is now, I have not yet found a name for them. Come now, try them on.”

Warily, Nerdanel inspected the bladed shoes. As far as having anything sharp while sliding unsteadily over slippery ice, this seemed to _beg_ for some kind of injury that would be truly hard to explain to the healers.

“Fëanáro, is that safe? I do not want broken ankles.”

Fëanáro, already donning his invention and bending low to fasten the leather bands around Nelyafinwe's boots, rolled his eyes “Wife of mine, do not be obtuse; _I_ made them--”

“Which is why I am asking,” said Nerdanel, effectively cutting him of as she made her careful way towards the edge of the lake. She remained upright, perfectly balanced, for balance came natural to all elves, but she remained wary of the metal strapped to her feet. She looked over her shoulder, regarding her husband with a wary glance. But then, perhaps in a bid to prove herself, she set foot upon the ice and slid forwards for a few feet. “How strange.”

Fëanáro watched her go, simmering quietly to himself until Nelyo tucked at Fëanáro's cloak as he tottered around on fine metal blades. It occurred to Fëanáro that arming his son with sharp metal might not have been the wisest idea.

Nelyo watched watched his mother trying to move forward before he rocked from side to side, “This feels strange, Ata.”

Fëanáro bent low to touch cold fingers to the leather straps,“Painful?”

“Nuh-uh.”

Humming, Fëanáro ruffled Nelyafinwe's hair, “Then it will be fine; Kiss your brother and go join your mother on the ice.”

Nelyafinwe turned his head to watch his mother glide along the ice before he looked up,“And you?”

Fëanáro petted Nelyo's head, “I will be observing. Go along.”

Nelyafinwe who was as good as the gold Fëanáro frequently used, leaned into the little sleigh and kissed his brother on the forehead. Macalaurë, utterly delighted squeaked and chirped happily.

There was much attempted flailing, but as swaddled as Macalaurë was, it was little more than animated wriggling.

“Buh-bye, be nice, Maca.” And with that Nelyafinwe was off to brave the ice. There was a hesitant click-clicking of metal, a _scrape_ as Nelyo steadied himself. And then he stood there, motionless.

“Ata, what do I do now?” called Nelyafinwe over his shoulder when the last of the momentum had ceased to drive him onward.

Fëanáro hummed, “Move; Forwards preferably.”

“How do I do that?” Nelyo tried to move forwards.

“Try something-- Except falling,” said Fëanáro as he watched his son stumble around.

Nerdanel, drawn to spectacles like a moth to flame, the naughty minx, came close, and Nelyo grabbed her coat to get dragged along. Though it was not was Fëanáro had meant when he had encouraged Nelyo to move, this certainly fulfilled the requirements.

He watched them and entertained Macalaurë who perhaps felt neglected before he turned back once more. They looked like two red ducks, Fëanáro mused as he watched his wife and son glide along peacefully, with Nerdanel at the front and Nelyafinwe trailing behind her.

Would his wife appreciate the comparison? Fëanáro was not certain. Next to him, Macalaurë burbled to himself and sneezed.

* * *

When she had enough, Nerdanel came to a hard stop, spraying ice shavings before her, hair billowing out behind her. Fëanáro felt his scientific mind waver as something in his nethers demanded redistribution of Fëanáro's limited blood supply, “Your turn,” Nerdanel said and winked at his crimson cheeks.

“I am observing. For the purpose of efficiency,” said Fëanáro and cleared his throat, desperate for a cold breeze to take this damned blush away.

Nerdanel snickered, nudged Fëanáro with her hip as she sauntered past him and kissed him on the ear, “There is no better way to research than trying it out for yourself. Out you go; I shall have some tea and indulge in Macalaurë's company.”

Macalaurë squealed and wriggled about as if to agree. The sleigh shook from side to side and went still again.

Fëanáro sighed but dutifully stalked towards the frozen waters and stepped deftly on the slick surface. Like his wife before him had done, it took some time to find his momentum but once he had, he was gliding over the lake quite elegantly.

Nelyo had gotten the hang of things and was now zipping about, shooting past him and laughed.

Fëanáro, who had no time for fun, tested exactly how he was supposed to move forward on these things. How had Nerdanel done it? Ah yes, he remembered. But before that he cast a glance behind him to see if his wife was looking.

She was not, instead she tickled the tiny elf hidden away in his sleigh-nest. There was such guffawing coming from that side of the lake, he could hear it from here.

* * *

A valuable lesson to learn was that, even though Fëanáro was standing quite stable and, dare he say, elegantly on the ice, it did not provide the same steadiness as solid ground and impacted momentum carried him quite far.

He could hear the beginning of Nelyafinwe trying to warn him, something that sounded like “Uh-oh-!” And then there was movement. Quite a lot more than Fëanáro wished _or_ cared for, frankly.

And so it was that when Nelyo crashed against him with all the might of a one-child avalanche, Fëanáro slid backwards for a moment, was thrown off his feet, crashed against the ice and slid a good five feet before bleeding out momentum.

Nerdanel, who had witnessed the display, came closer, looking graceful even from the upside down view Fëanáro beheld her from.

Splayed out, with Fëanáro's cloak looking like two great wings, or perhaps the flappy fins of a ray, they slid over the ice for half a foot before finally coming to a rest. “Are you alright?” asked Nerdanel as she, without effort, hurried to her stricken husband's side.

“Such is to be my life?” he asked the cloud-laden sky.

When Nerdanel was done laughing, she pulled Nelyo from Fëanáro,“Well, are you two skates done by now? It is getting rather chilly.” Indeed, in the distance a blizzard seemed to be brewing, daring any silly elves to stay outside and brave it's terrible nippy bite; Risking red noses and cold ears.

Nelyo squealed and threw his arms up, “That was fun! Again! Ata, do that again!”

Fëanáro, who had not enjoyed a cushy landing and instead had only been met by hard, unyielding ice, wheezed. “I am done for today.”

* * *

The walk back met them with their snowy honour guard, though a few of the snow-elves had tumbled over in a display of truly terrible discipline.

“Considering this new information –_Ai_, not so hard!-- I would say the experiment was a rousing success,” said Fëanáro and flinched when Nelyo grabbed for his bruised arm. He had landed quite unfavourably, right on his shoulder. But he would be damned before he would show his discomfort, for he was strong and unyielding. Right up until Nelyo had bounded up to him and grabbed his hand, yanking it about in a manner most unwelcome at the moment.

Nerdanel, who now pushed the sleigh, tutted at Fëanáro's discomfort, “I do have to admit, up until the last part I had great fun. A funny little thing you invented there, dear.”

“Liar, I saw you laugh at me. I heard your amusement at my pain.” Fëanáro said and turned his head away.

“Oh, it was more of empathetic reaction, dear.” At Fëanáro's flat stare, Nerdanel giggled, “Honest!”

Macalaurë had steadily quieted until the moment he started to mewl. With no tolerance for hunger, his mood had stretched to its breaking point and a tantrum was already brewing.

* * *

With their adventure behind, left outside like the snow brushed from damp boots hanging over the fireplace, calm returned. Hot drinks where served and Macalaurë's head bobbed up and down in time with his gulps as he made satisfied noises.

Nerdanel stroked his head where she reclined on the plush sofa and made soothing, wordless coos until the child closed his eyes in serene bliss. Warm, clean and now full, there was no reason to be cranky and Macalaurë was wholly content.

Nelyafinwe and Fëanáro sipped hot tea from dainty cups, both wrapped in the same red blanket, Fëanáro had calmed, once more content with sitting near the fire and lazing about. And even if he had not been, there was blessed little he would have been able to do to change it. The crash was forgiven, though not forgotten and Fëanáro had perused some of the snow to ease the thumping in his shoulder.

“I admit, there might still be some things to consider before I present them before my father,” thoughtful, “Because I do not believe he would appreciate this floundering.” He hummed, “I suppose I could send the snake a pair.”

“Rude. Do not talk about Indis that way,” reprimanded Nerdanel sharply.

“Feh,” Fëanáro fehed, unimpressed but, perhaps weary from such an adventurous day, let up and instead stretched his uninjured arm towards the plate with cake.

Eating cake, much like having tea, was a _fantastic_ way to spent the time cooped up while the blizzard howled outside, eager to steal their warmth and comfort away.

Macalaurë, sated, pulled back from his mother and chirruped. He squirmed about right away, head tilting backwards and searching for his brother. He waved his arms, insisting and eager to marshal Nelyo to his side.

Nelyafinwe, though reluctant to leave the warm cocoon, dutifully fetched him and together they snuggled in Fëanáro's lap, with only two heads peaking out from under the woolly red fabric.

Fëanáro wrapped his arm around them and leaned back into the pillows. The snow pack fell from its spot and Nerdanel joined them on the pillows where, after reapplying Fëanáro's cold compress, she found her way under the blanket.

“Have you found a name yet?”

“Skates!” Nelyo decided before Fëanáro could get a word in.

"I like it; It shall commemorate this first try." Nerdanel said. 

Fëanáro huffed but did not disagree.

And so, with the blizzard outside and the promise of cake and tea galore, Fëanáro felt no need to seek out another idea. For now, he was content.


End file.
